


Spirit in the Sky

by sahdah



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Death, Emotional Abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahdah/pseuds/sahdah
Summary: Spirit relives his darkest moments on a fateful morning, until he's guided by the light.
Kudos: 8





	Spirit in the Sky

He isn't sure he's ever noticed that moment of silence before the next tick of a clock. The sound as the needle clicks to the next position in time, but not before that breath of reluctance. He's not sure if he's ever notice how much of life happens in that millisecond of silence?

Spirit woke up that morning, much the same as any other morning. Opening his eyes, lapsing from sleep to consciousness and thought of his daughter, smiled, then rolled over and gave Blair a kiss on the nose. Thought about going back to sleep but ultimately got up. Stretched, his back cracking with what he absolutely refused to acknowledge as age, not old age mind you, just age. After relieving himself, he’d dressed in his running gear. By this time Blair was already up, so he went to the kitchen, took his vitamins, drank his water while staring out over the darkened horizon, and contemplated that his life, however riddled with mistakes, had always been a decent life.

Long clawed fingers wrapped around his waist and he felt kisses pressed between his shoulder blades. A simple gesture that made his heart constrict with the feeling of being lucky to have found a partner who understood him. Not that it lessen the occasional flares of guilt for the mess he'd left behind at the age of 18. 

He had been young, a fool in many ways, and while Marika never let him forget his worthlessness, the shit partner he had always been-- he couldn’t bring himself to regret her. For all the times she belittled him, nagged him, brought to light every failure he'd ever committed, even the things outside of his control-  _ I just don't understand how you never knew  _ **_Stein_ ** _ was doing those things to you _ \-- Spirit would do it all over again. No, not the cheating. Instead of slinking away looking for affection, he would have done the right thing. He would have set his limits, held them, and walked away- he was young, stupid and impulsive-- he'd made his mistakes, many of them. But- for  _ her-  _ for Maka, he'd gladly go through that pain again…

Deep, amber eyes stared at him. "Hey?" Blair asked, worry evident in her tone.

He blinked. Blinked again. "Yeah?" He laughed awkwardly, trying to hide his shame.

Blair continued looking at him cautiously. "I was asking if you were ready to go?"

He might have caught the way her breasts moved as she adjusted her music on her sculpted arm, he might have blushed, but when he caught the glint of a canine revealed by her smirk, he knew she was doing it on purpose. "Ya," he chuckled, "I'm ready."

Even at five in the morning, the desert air was dry, the coldness of night disappearing in the predawn heat. Still, it was cool enough to run on the pavement before the soles of your shoes started melting.

Blair ran beside him, he heard her sing snippets of her music off key and throaty and that worked for Brittany, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Somewhere in the city his baby angel would be waking up. He imagined she'd probably make Soul his scrambled eggs, wondered if that boy could fathom how lucky he was?

The contact with the pavement shot up his legs; it grounded him to the world, to Death City. Going up the hill, he had to focus on his breath, trying to drive the pain out of his right knee, willing himself to stay strong even though he’s no longer Death's only scythe. His baby girl had seen to that. Even now his heart swelled with pride. Still, his mind repeated,  _ baby steps get the hill _ as he shortened his stride and increased his pace, legs protesting against his will. Maka had always been hell bent on perfectionism… just like her mama…

Despite his glaring imperfections even at seventeen, it hadn't stopped Marika from seizing her perfect opportunity to turn Stein's failed partner into an actual  _ death scythe _ . She'd befriended him, listened to him in the beginning, and after Stein, well, he'd trusted too quickly. He had given so much of himself before he ever realized she'd given nothing in return. No shared dreams aside from her relentless pursuit of perfection or bouts of punishing silence. Only years later did he realize how she'd manipulated him with sex, how stupid he'd been for confusing fucking for affection. And how long they'd gone before it caught up with them.

Even now the memory of her distraught screaming from his bathroom is haunting, a note he’ll never be able to purge from his mind. The anger and frustration he'd felt from her wavelength. He'd asked what was wrong?  _ What do you think is wrong? _ she'd sobbed. Never having been skilled at reading human minds before meeting her, he had zero guesses until he saw the stick on the counter.  _ Oh _ . A hand reached out; the viewing window had two bars. He’d picked up the box, even though it was obvious it meant their lives had changed.

At the top of the hill he looked out over the horizon, the sun just starting to kiss the vanishing point, the clouds up above burning a vivid pink, burning with a tinge of gold.

Back then, things weren't the way they were now, or rather they didn't go about things the way young people did now. At his side Blair had moved on to singing something about poker faces. They'd now run about a third of their daily route.

These days, he imagined if Maka found herself in a similar situation with Soul- Spirit knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that man would support his daughter in whatever her decision would be. That's why he didn't find himself worrying about her much anymore; if he worried at all, it was for that white haired idiot, but he could see that while his little pumpkin had gotten the best qualities of his ex, she'd also somehow gotten a few of his best qualities, too. There wasn't enough air in his lungs to let him sport the stupid grin he'd always get when he thought of his baby girl, but it came even if it was just a hint blown away by the whooshing of his breath.

No, back then, he'd offered his imperfect hand, begrudgingly accepted by his bitter partner. Spirit wasn't completely ignorant; she'd always been more ambitious than him. More guarded. He had felt the trepidation from her side of the bond; she'd never wanted ‘the pregnancy’, then it was ‘the fetus’, and then it was Maka. He’d, foolishly, thought that this baby would bond them even closer. Maka became a light for him, a joy, a driving force- someone to live for.

His heart felt odd in his chest, too tight, too constricted.

It was like the sensation of watching an accident unfold right before his eyes. Everything seemingly okay until it wasn't. And then, it's too late. Similar to forgetting to look before making a turn or putting off changing tires before a freak ice storm, whatever the choices they were wrong and there's nothing that could be done. It was too late.

Three months after Maka's birth was when he realized something was off. His offers to help with his baby were brushed off; he wasn't breastfeeding, so how did he expect to feed her? He offered to change diapers-- had he ever changed diapers before? He could learn; she didn't trust him. He had respected doctors orders and was patient even after eight weeks had passed. Afterwards, any advance he made to comfort or to show affection was met with an icy, impenetrable, wall.

The sky was turning blue, the heat was rising, sweat beaded on his forehead.

He loathed what happened next. A perpetual circle of things he couldn’t change. What if he hadn't risen to the bait? What if he hadn't taken her feelings personally? What if he had insisted he care for Maka that evening? Maybe then he wouldn't have started down his shit hole.

The knee pain flared up, the worn cartilage popping making the bones scrape and ache with every step, but he welcomed the pain. Better the pain of the knee than the pain in his heart. Today was shaping up to be a bad mental trip. Maybe if he walked home.

There was only so much berating a person could withstand before they started agreeing with the shit version of themselves others saw. Stein switched his toes. Marika his identity. But Spirit had stood by and let it happen.

No one had told him to go to Chupacabra's. No one had forced the drinks down his throat. No one had said he had to accept the flirtatious advances of the woman behind the counter, but he did. He had relished the attention, the false feeling of affection, the stroke to his badly bruised ego. Hours later, he had woken feeling dirty, regretting his stupidity, the shame he felt; he'd given in and it felt like some part of him died.

Marika’s soul perception had told her everything she needed to know. It was downhill from there. She had the satisfaction of knowing how worthless he really was: a shit partner, a shit husband, and now a shit father.

At nineteen, he had been full of passive aggression, depressive mood swings hidden behind gleeful vengeance, and a recklessness to prove his perfect wife right-- not wrong. Instead of seeing a therapist, he saw the woman from the bar. Instead of confronting the shit festering in his soul, he became more apathetic to his wife's resentment. Leaving her alone with Maka had been a mistake, but being around Maka’s pure soul highlighted every mistake he was too childish to admit to. He was a man, goddamnit- A  _ MAN!  _ A very blind, very ignorant man child. Only later did he begin to realize what he was doing to himself was not only damaging his soul but also his child's.

Had he come to terms with the shit he was doing, or the reasons he was doing it, maybe he would've been there to defend his actions. Maybe his daughter would have understood. Or he could have helped her grow up to understand that some relationships are broken from the start. She would have understood that love is worth fighting for, but that sometimes love was never there to begin with. He could have helped her understand that she wasn't bound to the failures of her parents... That her father wasn't a paradigm for all men. But he hadn't come to terms. And the truth was he abandoned Maka and left her alone with his bitter partner. The worst of it was knowing he had only himself to blame.

The watch on his wrist beeped, two thirds of the way through.

But if Marika hadn’t shut him out? There was ever present anger; he had loved her, or at least thought he did. It was more or less confusing anymore. He'd always enjoyed flirting, attention whore that he was. But he had done his best to be discreet with, well, with his partners. And the one thing his ex had driven home to Maka- all men cheat- and he had let her. Why hadn’t he spoke up and said that there are good men out there? Was it because he wasn't one. Marika was always right and who was he to say differently? Spirit had stood by and made a mess of his life.

The air in his lungs hurt; his chest wouldn't open enough to let him catch his breath. He only had himself to blame.

Coming home to her parting note had been one of the worst moments of his life. His marriage had been a sham long before it had ever started, but he would never forgive her for abandoning Maka.

_ I can't do this anymore, I never asked to be a mother. Sign the papers or don't- I'm done, you raise her. _

Every time her parting words came to mind, he saw red. The note was burned immediately when his heart rate returned to something akin to normal. At first he’d tried so hard to wrap himself in defensiveness and justification but the seed of accountability was sown when he finally stood by and accepted his daughter's feelings and became his willing penance for his long list of sins. Somehow finding the strength to remain while remorse clawed at his soul. After thirteen years, he'd come face to face with the responsibility he'd run from. 

He still attempted to run.

Maka taught him to validate feelings, had shown him that he had been a coward hiding behind the gross misogyny he'd been taught his whole life to accept as normal. Soul taught him the value of accepting help from others. And, gradually, Blair taught him that he was a person worth loving. Growth was hard, acceptance of his broken self, infinitely harder.

Learning to set boundaries, keep them, and not cross them could've broken him, but Maka taught him courage. Each day began anew, a chance to move forward and do better,  _ be better--  _ at least better than yesterday.

At the park, they tried to catch their breath. Blair going through stretches. He couldn't catch his breath, his chest still felt too tight. His heart unsteady. Death, was he really this out of shape?

They'd walked back to their apartment hand in hand. Blair going on about her plans for the day, he had hopped in the shower. Out of the shower, he noticed the stiffness in his shoulder as he dressed and, gradually, the pain in his head.

Blair served them breakfast; he never knew he liked burnt halibut until they'd met. "Spirit," she asked, looking at him concerned. "You feeling okay?"

The pain in his head was growing. Shaking it made it worse.  _ Papa, what happens to souls when we die? _

His hand came up to his cheek, was he crying? Had he ever experienced pain this profound? "I." He could throw up. "Don't."

Maka's face came to mind. Golden hair and his eyes looking back at him. The sound of mass hitting the tile. Did his legs give out, why was he on the floor?

Blair's face suddenly there, hand twisted in his tie and shirt, she'd wrinkle it. Had he tried to swat her hand away. It felt like a strange dream. Echoes of  _ they're coming, hang on  _ filled his mind, but he was pushing Maka on a swing or maybe he was standing in front of it. Her face was red, she was upset. His eyes were on her, but the man who stood behind her was fawning over a woman with a younger child. He felt sick.

"Sir," the voice cut through his thoughts, "how many fingers am I holding up?"

He felt uncomfortable, tied to a table that was moving. A hand waving fingers in front of his face. "Two," he said, the number of golden twin tails.

He walked behind her. She was in a favorite dress and playing hide and go seek as she followed a man with hands wrapped around two women. The pain in his head- he wanted the pain to stop.

_ What happens to the souls you digest, Papa? _

What a strange question to be asked.

The pain was strange; growing, but the more it grew, the more Maka filled the void. He'd felt so tired. The tension in his chest would not ease, but he could no longer feel the pain in the knee.

It began with Maka, her nose scrunched over lunch the other day telling him how Soul burned the curry and how he’d had the audacity to lie about it. That boy should know better. "I'm scared to tell him I love him, Papa," she'd said.

"Don't be," he responded.

"Why not?"

"He loves you more than he loves himself." He'd known she'd want to know how he could possibly know this, his truth that was more clear to everyone around her than it could be for her. Spirit only had himself to blame, but he knew it all the same, because Soul wore the look he'd worn most of his life.

"How could you know that?" she'd asked her mutilated napkin.

"I just do, pumpkin." It wasn't hard to recognize an expression he was intimately aware of.

His hand was empty but he felt a pressure. Strange, so strange.

With each tick of a second hand he saw her face in reverse. Like the run this morning but the colors were more vivid. She was ten, reading a book and crying. She was five walking away from him going up the stairs of the school; she didn't look back, her face set with determination. She was howling in the kitchen; something she’d attempted to create didn't go right. "Don't give up Maka, you can do anything you set your mind to." His mother always told him that; his father scoffed but he believed his mama. She was three, talking so fast her words were a blur,  _ she _ was a blur jumping off the bed, running in circles around the house. Gripping his neck so tight while he read her a book. Meaty legs that kicked him in the night. She was two and refused to use the potty. She was one and crying because she burned her finger on the candle of her cake. She was 10 months and taking her first step, a look of determination burning in her eyes. She was six months angry on her belly before she started to crawl. She was three months cooing at him with a vice like grip on his finger. She was opening her eyes for the first time and he was watching her chest rise and fall, scared to death of screwing this up.

"Papa." Somewhere she was crying and out of reach. He was in an infinite darkness and for the first time he felt fear. He didn't want to leave her behind.  _ Maka! _ The sound was swallowed up. It was worse than the dreams where he couldn't run, locked up in blade form without a meister. Worse than his memories of Stein. MAKA! The darkness hovered present, neither allowing him to come or go.

_ I LOVE YOU! _ He screamed it with all his might; he was scared. He was so scared. He wasn't brave enough to face it.  _ I'm so sorry,  _ he whispered.  _ I’m so sorry for all of it. For hurting you ever. _

_ I know. _

His eyes zeroed in on a bright spec of electric, life blazing, blue. A sound soul...

Time sped up. He watched his baby come into the light, heard her first piercing cry, saw her breathing, sleeping, waking, crying, laughing, talking, walking, dreaming, laughing, growing. She was older now, dressed in white. His heart clenched seeing Soul standing next to her; he wanted to scream  _ please protect her, _ but he didn't. He trusted that they would protect one another. She changed and grew before his eyes. Soul handed her a small bundle. The baby grew. Another joined their family. He was watching them grow, blonde haired, white haired, green green eyes. They lived full lives, they grew old.

The second hand ticked into place.

Maka Albarn watched her father's soul depart.

It happened on a day like any other. And just like that, Spirit was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess, but life is precious. And you never know when it'll get taken.


End file.
